Howler
by NickeltheRed
Summary: Serge Prokofiev's Peter and the wolf had formed the most surprising and unexpected bond. Post 2006 film.


**This piece is based on the plot of the 2006 animated film version, as well as loosely inspired by the tale of _White Fang._**

* * *

**Scenario I**

The drive back to the farm was consumed by a questioning silence. Though it wasn't as if Peter and his grandfather had that much to say to each other to start with. Neither of them tried to drown out the sounds of the rusty motor.

The hunter drummed his calloused fingertips against the steering wheel as they made a left turn.

They could have made a fortune off of that pelt. The mere thought of the money never earned echoed inside the hunter's mind.

He cast a fleeting glance at the boy staring ahead at the empty road. The lad even had teeth marks on his cheek, for goodness sake! He could not fathom what force could have possessed Peter to actually make him free the wolf after all the effort it took just to capture it!

The hunter eventually felt like he had to ask, to know the facts. Anyone else would have raised the gun and took the shot.

"...Why let it go?"

These sudden words were low and gruff as ever, but his grandson heard a certain sense of wonder clinging to them.

"Because," replied Peter quietly, "I understand now. Wolves are not meant to be caged."

However, his implied answer was clear enough.

_"He was the same as me. I'm not meant to be caged."_

* * *

**Scenario II**

Every now and then, if the cold winter winds grew still and if the snow settled in, and when the darkened woods stood there waiting...as if it knew a storm was nearing, that's when Peter could hear it. One long, lone howl ring out amidst the trees.

He could just sense the call was for him. His heart told him so.

And at those very moments, depending if he was in a particularly good mood—or even in a bad mood—Peter would curl a hand around his mouth and howl right back.

* * *

**Scenario III**

Peter's grandfather may have been old and distant, but he still noticed how the other children in town gradually began to reject his grandson following the whole _incident._ They isolated him.

Boys around Peter's age seemed to each make a point not to linger in Peter's sights for too long...it was like they were afraid they were trespassing on his territory without permission. The girls avoided speaking to him just as much, as if they feared of getting bitten by some unpredictable savage beast ready to pounce.

No one wanted to play with _Wolf Boy_.

But changes were showing in Peter as well. He was influenced by the _incident_, too.

Some days, when his temper was getting the better of him, his walk would become so calculated and so determined that it actually looked like Peter was out on the hunt for something. One time—when had he caught Peter fighting with a lad twice his size—he could have sworn he saw Peter draw his upper lip back to reveal his clenched teeth.

That was not a typical gesture for a mere boy to make.

Yes, the hunter knew infants like Peter became boys, and all boys were destined to grow into men.

But he never expected the only grandson he ever will have to grow into...quite the wolf.

* * *

**Scenario IV**

Natalya remembered the first time she saw the shy boy called Peter, the grandson of that old aloof hunter whom her father and mother already detested.

Her yellow hair was loose and long under her knitted cap that day, and she was wearing a heavy scarf with her winter coat that matched her rosy cheeks.

She remembered how Peter stared at her across the street first, almost looking envious toward her group of friends. Like he longed for a friend to call his own. Then she remembered the neighbor boys bullying him in the alleyway.

And Natalya remembered when Peter rode into town a few days later when he managed to trap a wild wolf. She remembered how Peter had _released_ the beast to spare the its life, and how all of them back away in fright and confusion. She remembered how the wolf strolled evenly at Peter's side on its own free will—acting as if Peter was his equal. She also remembered that same night her sleep was plagued by nightmares of hungry black wolves running through the woods, and of a boy with a similar patch of wild black hair and a wide toothy smile, stalking towards her.

In person, there was now something gleaming behind that brilliant blue gaze of his each time they happened to cross paths around town. He was definitely no longer afraid of anyone.

_What piercing eyes you have, Peter... _

* * *

**Scenario V.**

During each season, Peter would wake early in the morning and go on about his long day of chores.

Grandfather still had him painting another coat on the side of the house, repairing new holes in the fence, and still had him out fetching bread and bullets from the market every passing week.

Though once in a while, he'd find a set of familiar canine tracks imprinted into the fresh soil right beneath his window.

Peter did not panic about his secret "companion" checking in on him after dark, and he never wanted to cry for help.

Nay, Peter would actually chuckle softly at the sight, since all the chickens in their coop were safe and untouched.

So as long as it was only a causal visit, there wasn't anything he needed to worry about.

* * *

**Scenario VI.**

After Peter buried his grandfather, he tended to the farmlands nonetheless. And by then he had shifted into a grown man with a body lean and handsomely built from chopping fire wood, and a healthy chin lined with stubble.

He generally lived alone in privacy, much like everyone had expected him to considering his...uniqueness they couldn't quite place.

Peter had a way with the wilderness unlike anyone else did. The forest did not frighten him, and _that_ seemed to frighten them more.

Life had never offered him a wife so far, nor did Peter have any children of his own to raise or close friends in the town to invite out to the farm for supper.

But in all honesty, he still had the wolf. Or presently known as _Howler._

Overtime, Howler had begun to guard the house while Peter left for a period of days at a time, looking for a little side work. (No burglar had ever dared to poke around his home with a wolf on the lookout.) Other days, Howler carefully approached him around dusk and fed from Peter's hand and allowed to have his ears scratched before scampering off again. There were even a few bone-chilling nights when Howler had actually come inside him room to slept next to him in bed, providing Peter extra warmth.

They had formed the most surprising and unexpected bond; for neither of them were completely wild, though not that tame either.

But they were a pack.


End file.
